Missing in Michigan Page 10

  We take a beat to discuss our plan, then quickly put it into action. It’s tricky, but I believe in Wayne. That’s why I’m willingly walking straight back into Diane’s camp.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Where the heck is everyone? I thought I’d be instantly spotted and might have to dodge an incoming bullet – or a wendigo – but I don’t see anyone at all. There’s no sign of Chad, either, although there is a bit of blood where he was standing.

  I look around quizzically. I was supposed to distract Diane long enough for Wayne to get the jump on her. I start to walk back toward the tree line when a horrible sound stops me in my tracks. The moaning and wailing that’s reverberating out of the ground below me is unquestionably human.

  Certain that Wayne still has eyes on me and that Chad is being tortured – or fed to a wendigo – my eyes dart everywhere. Ah ha! There it is! I stride toward a partially hidden set of wooden doors that are on the ground. They creak as I pull them open and dust flies into my face. The meager illumination of my flashlight shows a crumbling set of stairs leading down into the darkness.

  I’m coming, Chad.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The painful cries continue as I rush through the narrow corridor. A few torches hanging on the makeshift walls light my way, and I impulsively decide to grab one. Wielding nothing more than a tiny tactical flashlight and a torch, I approach the slightly ajar door that separates me from whatever atrocities are being committed here.

  I sneak to the edge of the doorframe and carefully peer into the room. Chad is there, and he’s tied to a large x-frame. His screams escape through a filthy rag and drips of blood continue to join their brethren in several puddles by his feet. Diane is his torturer, but from what I can tell, she isn’t even bothering to ask him any questions.

  Unsure what else to do, I creep up behind her and swing the torch as hard as possible at the back of her head. Diane crumples to the ground as her hair ignites. Freaked out, I grab a tarp and put out the flames.

  Next, I remove Chad’s gag and start working on untying him “Alex? What are you doing here?”

  “Saving your ass, apparently,” I quip.

  His bewildered expression makes it clear he doesn’t take in my attempt at humor. With no time to explain myself further, I begin pulling him toward the door.

  “Come on, we have to get out of here!”

  We make it about twenty feet down the corridor before Chad stops. “No, I can’t do this. I can’t leave him here.”

  Oh, yeah. Diane did say something about his son being here. Anxiety has chewed a hole through my belly and sunk into my knees, but I nod my agreement anyway and follow him back through the corridor. What am I getting myself into now? And where the heck is Wayne?

  We continue to scurry through what has become an ever-expanding network of tunnels. We have no idea which way to turn, but Chad plunges headlong carelessly. Either he’s following some type of police intuition or this isn’t his first time in this old mine shaft. I try really hard not to dwell on the latter possibility.

  A young man darts into view. He’s probably fifteen or sixteen, has sandy brown hair and blue eyes. His ribs protrude grotesquely from his emaciated frame. He drops to the ground and trembles noticeably. A thin trail of urine escapes the right leg of his tattered pants.

  “Please…” he croaks.

  I drop to my knees. “Shhh. It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re not going to hurt you.”

  His trembling increases and I wonder what type of mental torture would make him frightened of a few kind words. I reach out to comfort him, but his body jerks backward as if to avoid a venomous snake.

  “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m really not going to hurt you. I’m here to help.”

  His furtive eyes connect with mine, and I can tell he’s scanning them for any hint of deception. “What’s your name?” I ask.

  Tears stream from the corners of his eyes. “My name? I don’t have a name here. None of us do.”

  I want to kill Diane and anyone else who is involved in this mess, even though that might end up including Chad.

  “What was your name before you came here?”

  He struggles for a moment, but then his eyes clear. “Todd. My name is Todd.”

  The latest missing teenager! If it wouldn’t have been wildly inappropriate, I might have just broken out into a victory dance. He’s not dead! I actually found him, and I’ve solved at least part of the mystery. I could get used to this.

  “I’m going to take you home, Todd. But first, I need your help. Are there others here? Others like you? I want to take all of your home.”

  A sob hitches in his throat. “They’re all dead,” he whispers. “I’m the last.”

  Chad falls to the ground with a hard thud. “No. No! That can’t be true. Where’s my son? Where is he?”

  Todd backs up a few inches and then begins rocking, but he doesn’t respond.

  “I don’t believe she’d kill her own son, Alex. I have to keep looking for him.”

  “Yes, of course. Wayne should be here any second, if he’s not already. Let’s help Todd get out of this nightmare and then we’ll find your son.”

  The hint of fresh air and daylight brings a spark into Todd’s eyes. He pulls himself up and heads toward the exit.

  “Todd?” I call after him.

  He doesn’t respond. I’m torn between two choices. Do I help Chad or complete a major part of my mission? I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to either of them. I’m guessing Chad is in better shape to defend himself, despite the recent torture, so I reluctantly follow Todd after Chad nods his approval.

  We make our way outside without a hitch, but there are two things weighing heavily on my mind. Why haven’t I seen Wayne yet? And why did the tarp that was covering Diane’s body appear to be completely flat on the ground when we rushed past that room?

  I help Todd find a hiding place past the tree line, point him in the general direction of our boat, and tell him to hang tight. Leaving him seems very wrong, but so does abandoning Chad. It’s time to head back into the tunnels.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Alex,” someone thinly hisses.

  No one appears in my vision, but the voice is very familiar.

  “Wayne?”

  “Over here,” he says.

  I’m overjoyed that he’s finally here. That feeling stops as soon I actually see him, though.

  “Oh, Wayne,” I whisper sadly as I take his hand and push the hair from his forehead. The sickly metallic scent of blood hangs in the air. The tunnel wall holds his weight, but it’s taking everything in him not to slide to the ground. His life is seeping from a gaping wound on his right lower abdomen.

  My vision suddenly diminishes with the blurry haze of tears. “What happened?” I cry.

  “She got the jump on me…”

  “Diane did this?” I ask incredulously. “I don’t understand, Wayne.”

  “Two of the… boys are h-here. T-Todd and… t-the other o-one… save them. G-go.”

  “No! I won’t leave you here like this, Wayne. I can’t!”

  “Y-you must… or… all in v-vain.”

  I channel as much inner strength as possible, kiss him, and nod. “If we’d had more time, if we’d been in a different place… I think I would have fallen in love with you, Wayne. Thank you.” I kiss him again.

  As the light fades out of his eyes, he says, “H-hey… At l-least I-I’ll see you… a-again.” A faint smile reshapes his facial features as he exhales his last breath.

  I want to fall apart. I need to fall apart. But Diane could be anywhere and Chad is still down here, too. Plus, there’s two victims to rescue. I kiss his cheek one more time and then remove the boat keys from his inner jacket pocket.

  “I’ll come back for you,” I pledge.

  I really hope Chad is still alive.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Grabbing another torch from the wall, I work my way deeper into the mining tunnels. Water drips from
the crudely fashioned ceiling and the mustiness reminds me of a closet filled with mothballs. Odd sounds keep hitting my ears from all directions, and I’m poised for a fight each time I turn another corner.

  Where is he?

  This place would be disorienting enough even if I wasn’t terrified. I’m pretty sure I’ve even managed to walk in circles a couple times, although there really aren’t any discernible landmarks to verify my theory. There’s nothing but a series of dimly lit, damp, pungent tunnels. None of them have led to any additional rooms or any clues about Chad’s location.

  Wayne’s death hangs impenetrably over my heart and mind. Rationally, I know this entire mess is Diane Hambler’s fault, but that’s not enough to prevent me from feeling one-hundred percent responsible for what happened to Wayne. After all, if I hadn’t cajoled him into coming here, he’d still be alive.

  Pushing back tears, I plod forward with no clear end game in sight. Just as I’m starting to wonder if I should go back toward the surface, I hear the faint trickle of voices far ahead. My feet disobey my mental command to be cautious as they pick up speed. One of those voices is Chad’s, and it sounds like he’s in trouble, yet again.

  I skid to a stop before bursting into view. Peering around what must be the millionth corner of this old mine, I see Chad, Diane, and a teenage boy. The young man is every bit as emaciated as Todd, and he has the rabid appearance of a dog that’s been bitten repeatedly by an infected animal.

  “Son, please. Put that down,” Chad says. The strain in his voice is unmistakable. That’s when I realize the teen who must be his son is holding what can only be described as a ceremonial knife from well before the Middle Ages. If I don’t miss my guess, it’s actually an athame. It’s not at all shocking to see evidence of magic rituals being performed here, although I’ve never seen anything to suggest that magic is real.

  “You threw me away like garbage! Why shouldn’t I kill you? Do you understand the power in a son sacrificing his father? It would fuel us for years!”

  “You’re wrong. I never intended to make you feel like garbage. You’re my son. I know I didn’t react well, but I needed a little time,” Chad implores him.

  “Oh, don’t worry, Dad. You’ll have plenty of time to think while we bleed you dry.” The scorn and hurt in his son’s voice slaps Chad in the face and rebounds to me. His son is clearly ready to exact vengeance for any and all perceived slights, and he doesn’t seem to have any interest in confirming anything first. Judge, jury, and executioner.

  Chad hangs his head with resignation. He slowly walks toward his son, clasps his hands together, and thrusts his arms out with supplication. “Please. I never meant to hurt you.”

  I’m stunned by how different Chad seems. Long gone are his swagger, flirtatious energy, and seemingly endless supply of bravado. I understand what he’s going through is enough to temporarily punt these qualities away from anyone’s personality, but that doesn’t make it any easier to see him give up so easily.

  Diane pushes Chad from behind and his son roughly ties his hands together. As they lead him down the next tunnel, a faint glint catches my attention. Chad’s gun! He must have dropped it or stashed it as a backup plan. If he’s got that level of foresight, then he may not be as far gone as I’d feared.

  With the gun firmly in my grasp, I follow them for several minutes until they reach their destination. Great. Another x-frame. What is it with these people and their x-frames?

  The teenage boy works on tying Chad to the wooden frame as his mother watches. With everyone distracted, I’m able to position myself behind Diane. She slightly turns as I cock the pistol, jam it into her ribs, and put her into a semi-chokehold.

  “Stop!” I command.

  Chad’s son looks at me with bewilderment for a beat before ugliness transforms his face. “What are you doing? Let my mother go!”

  “Calm down. No one needs to get hurt here. Just untie your dad, and we’ll all walk away from this.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Diane hisses.

  The teenager’s face is filled with conflict. He sags slightly, and although he doesn’t remove Chad’s bounds, he doesn’t continue with them, either.

  “Put the athame on the ground,” I say.

  His startled expression tells me all I need to know; it is an athame, and he’s shocked that I know that.

  “I don’t know if blood magic is real or not, but I promise you, killing your dad isn’t going to give you want you want. You need to let him go.”

  “You need to be strong and do what I tell you,” Diane contradicts me. “This silly, lovestruck cow isn’t important. I’ll deal with her. You must prepare the sacrifice.”

  “But she’ll shoot you.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem,” says a new voice. Much like Diane before me, I’m unable to turn around fast enough to see my new attacker. But as she coldcocks me, I realize I’ve heard her voice before.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Crap. These people must have gotten a bulk discount. That’s the only way to explain their predilection for x-frames. I’m tied to one, and Chad is affixed to another one in front of me. His face is swollen from a fresh round of beatings he must have taken while I was passed out.

  “So, you’ve finally decided to join us, huh?” a voice dripping with derision greets me.

  As the grogginess clears from my eyes, I get definitive confirmation of what I already suspected. Sally is part of this, and she’s not on the side of law and order.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in Florida?” I ask.

  She mockingly repeats my question and then spits out a response, “Florida is hot, muggy, and full of bugs. How in the world does anyone believe I would be into that? You’re all even dumber than I thought.”

  Sally and I may have a shared disdain for humidity and bugs, but that’s where our similarities end. I knew she was nasty. I just didn’t know she was this nasty.

  “Is this the part where you tell us all about your evil plan?” I ask as Chad watches everything carefully.

  “What do you think we are? Idiots?” says Diane. “Or perhaps you think we’re mustache twirling cartoon characters?”

  Chad manages to whisper “moose and squirrel” just loudly enough for me to hear it, and he gives me the faintest hint of his killer smile. Not a smart idea, but it’s still an impressive amount of clapback from someone who has been beaten up and taken hostage for the second time today. And it proves yet again that his psyche is less damaged by this experience than outward appearances suggest. At least so far, anyway.

  “I want to tell them,” Sally whines.

  The two women share a brief face off before Diane relents. “Fine. Whatever. But don’t take too long.”

  “You see, Sheriff Screw-Up and Nosy Novelist, you’re about to become the guests of honor at a ceremony that dates back thousands of years. You do know how wendigos are made, right?”

  What was it Wayne said? Something about… oh my god. They can’t seriously mean cannibalism, right?

  Sally sees my horrified moment of recognition and laughs. “Exactly,” she winks before blowing out the sole torch lighting the area around the x-frames.

  Chapter Twenty

  There’s a gun that’s getting so intimately acquainted with my ribs that it should probably buy me breakfast. There’s no chance for me to run and nothing I can do for Chad. There’s rope biting into my wrists, and I can’t see anything through the itchy burlap sack that’s covering my face.

  Whoever has set me and the gun up on the worst blind date of all time has zero patience for the fact that I’m walking blind. My latest stumble results in my body being jerked back up as the gun probes even more insistently. I’m pretty sure it will rip through my skin and touch my actual ribcage if she presses any deeper. I’m also certain she doesn’t care.

  A sharp rush of coldness and the unmistakable pine scent announces we’ve left the mine. I hope Todd doesn’t get brought back into this mess. Unless he
can save us, of course.

  I count my paces but lose track after number two-hundred. Shortly thereafter, I’m slammed against something wooden. Let me guess. An x-frame?

  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it is indeed another x-frame and someone’s roughly tying me to it. If I get out of this alive, I don’t ever want to see another piece of rope again. I’m also going to throw away my x-frame bookcase.

  The burlap sack is ripped from my face. Stars twinkle overhead as the full moon lights up the entire clearing. An ancient drum sits nearby. It appears to be Native American in origin. Chad’s son picks up a pair of large, mallet-styled drum sticks. Wildlife scatters loudly through the trees as the mallets induce the drum to sing its eerie, powerful song.

  My lips tremble, but it’s more from the cold than fear. That’s what makes it so astounding when the teenage boy tosses away his jacket and rips off his shirt.

  “It’s my turn,” he says manically as his mother urges him onward.

  “Yes. Do it, son. Do it!” The zeal in her eyes is unmistakable. Diane is glowing at the thought of her estranged husband’s death, but it’s also much more than that. I’m pretty sure she actually believes in blood magic.

  The athame’s blade reflects a moonbeam as it plunges toward its intended target. “Please, Dustin. Stop this. There’s still time,” Chad says as sobs catch in his throat.

  Dustin? Did he just call him Dustin?

  Dustin rakes the blade down Chad’s exposed chest. Blood bubbles to the surface, and Dustin uses it to paint his chest and face. “Why wouldn’t I kill you, Dad? You killed the love of my life!” he screams.

  “I did what?” Chad retorts.

  “Stop it. Just stop it. Mom told me everything. How you killed him and staged it to look like a suicide. I hate you. I’m glad you’ll be my sacrifice.”

  “No! That’s not what happened!” I shout.